


Snow and Song

by Marsalias



Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: Bullying, Danny can sing, Danny is a Disney Princess, Danny is roped into drama club, F/M, barely there Amethyst Ocean, school schedule troubles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:27:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23221696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marsalias/pseuds/Marsalias
Summary: Based on prompts from hauntedjoanns and shower-phantom-ideas. Danny is forced to join the drama club to make up for a missing 'fine arts' credit on his transcript. He wants to stay in the background, or, more accurately, stay backstage. Will he? Of course not! Irregular updates. Rated T for safety.
Relationships: Danny Fenton/Sam Manson
Comments: 47
Kudos: 303





	1. Chapter 1

Danny stared at Mr. Lancer. He couldn't believe his ears. His eyes traced down to the piece of paper in front of him. He couldn't believe that thing, either. 

“You're not serious.”

“I'm afraid I am,” said Mr. Lancer. 

“But-” spluttered Danny. “But my schedule is full!” He seized the offending piece of paper and waved it around. “I don't have time for a- For a 'fine arts' credit! What even _is_ that?”

Mr. Lancer sighed. “I'm aware that you have a full schedule, Mr. Fenton.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Of course, if you had been more studious in past years, it might not have come to this, but we can't change the past.”

Danny suppressed the urge to tell Mr. Lancer that wasn't quite true. Mr. Lancer didn't know about Danny's unsanctioned extracurricular activities, or his more unusual friends, nor was he aware of the more esoteric properties of natural ghost portals. 

“As to what a fine arts credit is,” continued Mr. Lancer, “the state wants high school graduates to be well-rounded individuals. That means that they want all students to be exposed to art, as well as math, science, history, and English.”

“But my schedule is packed with math, science, history, and English,” said Danny, speaking through his teeth. “Not to mention PE, and _careers._ ” He said the last with venom. His grades had picked up since freshman year as he became more skilled at handling his double (half) life and all the problems that came with it, but he knew he'd never be able to handle a normal job, much less the one he'd wanted for most of his life. He didn't need _careers_ to tell him that, and the class was going to waste valuable time. “Maybe I can skip careers?” he asked, hopefully. 

“Careers is required,” said Mr. Lancer. 

Danny slumped back in the chair. It wasn't a big chair, but, unlike his grades, Danny hadn't grown at all since freshman year. He was tiny. “Well, I don't know what I'm going to do, then,” he said. He bit his lip. He had worked _so hard_ the past couple of years to get all of his requirements fulfilled. “I guess I'm not going to be able to graduate, because I've got seven required classes, and only six periods to do them in.” 

Jazz would be so disappointed. She'd spent so much time tutoring him over the past few years. So would Sam and Tucker. They were just as invested in Danny graduating as _he_ was. 

“Not necessarily,” said Mr. Lancer, folding his hands and leaning forward. “I've talked with the rest of the staff and the school board, and we've come up with a solution.”

Danny perked up but refused to get his hopes too high. It might be an online thing, and those hadn't really worked for him in the past. “Yeah? What?”

“You would have to join one of Casper High's extracurricular fine arts clubs,” said Mr. Lancer, “and make a significant effort in and contribution to the club. Your work would be monitored by the club adviser.”

That... wasn't the _worst_ thing, Danny decided. It would be difficult, and it would demolish his free time (ha!) completely, but it sounded _possible_.

“So,” said Danny, “what would, um, count as an art club?”

“Fine arts club,” corrected Mr. Lancer.

Danny got the distinct impression, just from that sentence, that in whatever meeting the teachers had about him, that term got repeated frequently. The teacher coughed, emanating just enough embarrassment for Danny to taste it. He squirmed internally. Embarrassment was not his favorite emotional meal.

“Well, the literature club, the art history club, marching band, and jazz band are all good choices,” said Mr. Lancer, “but may I suggest the drama club? I may be a little biased, as I am the adviser for the drama club, but I think that it's the best fit for you.”

Danny wasn't sure he agreed. He didn't know much about what went on in the drama club, but they did put on plays. Plays, presumably, were a team effort that required commitment, punctuality, being in the right place at the right time, and not skipping out on a role to go fight ghosts. Danny just wasn't very good at those kinds of things.

On the other hand, he couldn't play an instrument, any instrument, and he definitely didn't have the time to learn. Not to mention that any instrument he was given would be trashed the first time a ghost showed up while he had it, and he was fairly confident that musical instruments were expensive.

“Who are in charge of the literature and art history clubs?”

“Mr. Cullen is in charge of both of them,” said Mr. Lancer. 

Danny cringed. Mr. Cullen hated him. Danny didn't really blame him for that, he was a terrible student, but still. It was exhausting to share space with so much animosity. 

“Didn't there used to be a choir club?”

Mr. Lancer sighed. “Choir was mostly seniors last year,” he said. “The remaining choir members have agreed to join drama so that we can do a musical.”

Danny bit his lip. “Can I think about it for a bit?” he asked. 

Mr. Lancer looked disappointed, but he leaned back, and said, “Of course. You have until Friday. That's when club sign-ups end. Can you send in Mr. Foley when you get back to class?”

Danny nodded, and got up to leave. He stopped at the door. “Thank you, Mr. Lancer.”

.

.

.

“What am I going to do?” Danny's moan was muffled by his comforter, which his face was buried in. 

“Well,” said Sam, “I guess you're going to join a club.”

“I don't have time for a club.”

“You don't have time for another year of school, either.”

“Sam,” scolded Jazz. “Danny, you'll be fine.” Jazz's college didn't start for almost another month. “I was in a couple clubs. They don't take _that_ much time.”

“You quit your clubs the year after you started helping us with ghosts,” said Danny.

“That's true,” said Jazz. She sat down next to Danny on his bed. “But Tucker's still part of a club. He's doing fine.”

“Yeah,” said Tucker, scrolling through a ghost file on Danny's computer, “but you don't actually have to be physically present at tech club meetings, and I have some really well-trained bots to cover for me.”

“How did you guys get fine arts credits, anyway?” asked Danny, rolling over to stare at his ceiling. 

“Poetry elective,” said Sam.

“Sewing class,” said Tucker. “It's come in handy more than I ever thought it would, that's for sure.”

“Pft. Yeah,” said Danny, fingers tracing a scar on his hip. It had needed stitches.

“You should pick the drama club,” said Sam. 

“Because it's Mr. Lancer?”

“Partially,” said Sam. “He's way better than Mr. Cullen, anyway. But the thing is, with drama, there's a lot more than just the acting. You could make the sets, or something like that, and that way you wouldn't have to be consistently there, but you could still contribute. You could sneak in at midnight after patrol, if you couldn't manage any other time. And you _can_ draw, so.” She shrugged. 

“I guess,” said Danny, sitting up. He sighed. “I managed to wheedle the homework schedule for the next couple of months from Mrs. Lee. Who wants to help me get a head start with math before the ghosts get in the w-?” Danny gasped and exhaled blue. “I just had to jinx it, didn't I?”

“Pretty much,” said Sam.

“I'll get the thermos,” said Jazz.

.

.

.

Danny elbowed the ghost monkey in the face. Its not-quite-human body plan had thrown him off at first. He could deal easily with human and not-human-at-all body types, but sometimes he forgot to compensate for small differences. It hadn't taken too long in this case, however. It might have been helped by the fact that the monkey didn't have human-level intelligence, which was a bit odd. Usually animals got smarter in death, especially ones that had been relatively intelligent in life. Maybe the monkey hadn't been dead all that long.

Not that that really mattered. Danny blasted the monkey in the face, and it went plummeting to the ground. Sam sucked it into the thermos halfway there. Danny sighed, and began to descend. The fight had been a fast one, at least. 

Something landed on his head, and he stopped. Two more things landed on his shoulders. He sighed but smiled. “Hey, guys,” said Danny. The things, which happened to be birds, a robin, a sparrow, and a crow, twittered and cawed at him.

Ever since his Accident, some animals had become very friendly with him. That included dogs, cats, rats, bats, purpleback gorillas, and a variety of birds. 

The birds in particular had taken a liking to flying with Danny. These were only the first of a whole flock. Well. A whole, small flock. Only a couple dozen flew with Danny regularly, during the day. A different group, mostly owls, flew with him at night. Of course, small _ghosts_ also had a tendency to fly with Danny at night.

Danny touched down in an alley and returned to human form. Jazz, Sam, and Tucker joined him there a moment later. 

“I'm guessing you won't be coming back home right away?” said Jazz, indicating his feathery companions. 

Danny made a face, as the crow began to tug on his hair. “You know they won't leave me alone now until I fly with them.”

“You're such a pushover,” said Sam, crossing her arms and rolling her eyes. Her tone was amused, however. 

“It'll be a short flight,” said Danny, defending himself. “Then we can get back to homework. I won't be able to fly with them as much I have been now that school's started.”

“It's fine,” said Jazz. “Go do your thing. We'll get things set up at home.”

“Thanks. I'll only be ten, fifteen minutes.” He went ghost and lifted off. 

“Have fun,” said Sam.

.

.

.

Danny bounced nervously on the balls of his feet. It was stupid to feel like this. He did genuinely frightening things on a daily basis. He fought _ghosts_. Like Sam had said, he wouldn't be actually _acting_. He wouldn't be up in front of people. 

In any case, all that he was doing today was telling Mr. Lancer that he was going to be joining the club. 

Correction: that _they_ were going to be joining the drama club. 

Sam was convinced that he would crash and burn without supervision. Which was fair. He just would have preferred it if she had described it differently. Like, if she said he would probably have a panic attack if he was left without at least one other member of Team Phantom, considering who else was in drama.

… No, that wasn't much better, actually. 

“Danny,” said Sam. “Just go in. It's just Mr. Lancer, and we're missing lunch.”

“Okay, okay,” said Danny. He opened the door to the classroom, knocking as he did so. “Mr. Lancer?”

“Come in, Mr. Fenton,” said the teacher, looking up from his computer. “Have you made up your mind about which club you're going to join?”

Danny nodded, and stepped into the room. “Yeah,” he said. “I- and, um, Sam, too,” he said as Sam followed him into the room. “We've decided to join the drama club.”

Mr. Lancer's face lit up. “Great!” He opened one of his filing cabinets and pulled out some papers, then used his chair to roll over to Danny and Sam. “You just need to fill out these forms and get your parents to sign them.”

“Er, I think you gave me a few extras,” said Danny, comparing his stack to Sam's pair. 

“Yes,” said Mr. Lancer brightly. “I know. I'm hoping at least one will survive your house.”

“Oh. Uh, good call,” said Danny, wincing slightly as he remembered all of the... less than intact assignments and papers he had turned in. 

“Hey, can I get one of those, too?”

“I thought you weren't going to join?” Danny asked Tucker.

“My club apparently volunteered me to be the camera guy, sooooo...” Tucker sighed. “That's what I get for not showing up at the in-person meetings,” he mumbled under his breath.

“Excellent!” exclaimed Mr. Lancer. “I always try to get one of you kids to record our progress. You don't have to show up at every drama club meeting but try to attend regularly.”

“Sure,” said Tucker, resignation obvious in his voice.

Danny grinned and put an arm around Tucker's shoulders. “Come on, Tucker. It won't be that bad. You'll be with us!”


	2. Chapter 2

The once-a-semester school play was _big_ in Casper High. Really big. Basically, all the school clubs contributed, which meant that all the other clubs had representatives in the drama club. It was partially a school pride thing, partially a clique pride thing, and partially a fifteen minutes of fame thing. After all, anything that big at Casper High was also big in Amity Park in general.

Oh. And it was the school's single biggest fundraiser. When Danny had been in eighth grade, the play had made enough money for prom to be held at the biggest, fanciest hotel in town, complete with professional catering and a real band. 

Danny had forgotten. Or, perhaps more accurately, he had never really known. Danny's Obsession sometimes drove him to strange extremes, like learning the name of every single person residing in Amity Park, but it didn't make him any less clueless. Besides, most of his time over the past three years had been spent fighting ghosts, barely keeping up with schoolwork, and desperately pretending that he didn't have to do either of those things. Sure, he knew that a lot of effort went into the play, and a lot of people got really excited over it, but it was just a background thing to him. Like band concerts, or away games for basketball. 

He was, therefore, a bit surprised by how many people showed up in the cafeteria after school. 

Paulina was there, Dash was there, basically the whole A-list was there. So were the nerds. The goths had a presence, too, beyond just Sam. Basically, all the cliques did. They were separated, of course. Even if the A-list was working with the social outcasts, they weren't going to _associate_ with them. That would be gross. Altogether, it was like a microcosm of the school ecosystem. Heck, they were even sitting at their usual lunch tables. 

The numbers, in Danny's opinion, were both good and bad. Good, because it would be easier to fade into the background, bad, because it meant he would have to deal with the A-listers. Gross. 

“Alright, children!” said Mr. Lancer, bursting into the cafeteria, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the dull buzz of conversation. He was pulling a large, wheeled, whiteboard behind him, and had a manic grin on his face. “Time to start picking out our play for this semester!” The rear wheels of the whiteboard got stuck on the threshold. “Remember,” he said, yanking the board hard, “there are lots of different versions of most plays and stories,” the board remained stuck, “and we _always_ modify the play we to suit our own strengths.” He tried to jiggle the board over the threshold but failed. 

Mr. Lancer's struggle with the whiteboard was getting painful to watch. Danny got up to help. 

“Suck up,” coughed Dash in such a way that it was heard by all the students and went completely unnoticed by Mr. Lancer. 

Danny sighed. 

“Mr. Lancer? Do you need a hand?”

“That would be wonderful, Mr. Fenton. If you could lift that end a little while I pull?”

“Sure,” said Danny. They finally got the whiteboard into the room, and Mr. Lancer wheeled the board up in front of the assembled students. 

“Thank you, Mr. Fenton,” he said, adjusting himself. He uncapped a marker. “Alright, now, one at a time, suggestions.”

The room, predictably, exploded. 

“I want a fairy tale!” said Paulina, managing to be heard over the clamor. “I've been waiting three years to be a princess! This year, I get to be a princess.” The A-list, many of whom relied on Paulina for their continued popularity, added their agreement. 

“No way!” exclaimed Razor (his real name was James), a junior. “We've had your stupid love stories the past two years. We want darkness! We want horror! Pathos!” 

The goths (including Sam) cheered, but not too happily. That would be bad form. They were creatures of darkness and despair, after all. 

“Give us the Bard!” demanded Ricky Marsh. 

“The Scottish Play!” seconded Mikey.

“ _Hamlet_!”

“ _The_ _Tempest_!”

“ _Twelfth Night_ , but with Cesario and Olivia getting together at the end!”

“ _Gay._ ”

“What's wrong with that?!”

The nerds devolved into bickering among themselves.

“Miss Bell said that it was going to be a musical this year!” complained Grayson, who was a band kid. He had his trombone case cradled in his lap. Danny had always been rather impressed that he could play anything with a mouthpiece, considering what his braces were like. “If it's not a musical, then what are we here for?” The band and choir transplants shouted in support, using their superior lung capacity to maximum effect. 

“But it has to be Shakespeare!” insisted the more traditional theater geeks, who had managed to negotiate a sort of loose alliance with the nerds. 

“Disney!” screamed a rabid coalition of cheerleaders and assorted freshmen.

“ _The King in Yellow_!” rallied the goth contingent.

“ _Chicago_!” shouted someone as the choir/band clique began to balkanize.

“ _Rent_!”

“ _Hairspray_!”

“ _Phantom of the Opera_!” countered Sam. Danny glared at her, realized she wasn't paying attention, then put his head down on his arms. It was far too loud in here. The cafeteria had a nasty habit of echoing. 

“Hey, that's not bad,” said a drama kid. Battle lines were redrawn, this time with the goths, theater, and the opera-loving half of choir on one side, and everyone else on the other. The yelling started again.

“ENOUGH!”

… and there was Mr. Lancer, the only teacher at Casper High to have successfully beaten a ghost. Sure, it was the Box Ghost, who had once been defeated by a _cat_ , but still. It gave him social credit that the other teachers just didn't have. 

“I _said,_ one at a time. Please be quiet, until I call on you, and _then_ we can discuss our options. Including,” he laid a repressive eye on the goths, “altering or even entirely re-writing the play to be,” he sighed, “'darker.' If that's what you want. Miss Battaglia, if you could start us off?” he finished, selecting Mia Battaglia, one of the few students of Casper High who had managed not to get on the bad side of any clique, and was therefore a safe first choice. 

“I think a fairy tale would be wonderful!” said Mia, pressing her hands together like she was praying. “Especially if we take our cues from the originals, and not just the Disney version.”

“Please pick a specific one, Miss Battaglia,” said Mr. Lancer.

“Oh! Um. _Snow White_ , maybe?”

So it went. After about half an hour, the entire whiteboard was filled up on both sides. Danny kept his head down the whole time, and didn't respond even when Mr. Lancer prompted him, almost desperately, to make a suggestion. He wasn't the only one. A number of other students deferred to their clique leaders, or, like Tucker, just seemed indifferent. 

Then the discussion began. At first, Danny continued to imitate a log, but then, to his horror, _the Phantom of the Opera_ began to gain traction with more than just the goths and opera-lovers. He had to at least try to put a stop to that. So he argued, in best Fenton tradition, that they shouldn't put on _the Phantom of the Opera_ because it would attract ghosts. It wouldn't, as far as he knew, but knowing Danny's luck, he would either wind up as one of the main characters, or Paulina would 'modernize' it, and Dash would wind up bleaching his hair, putting in green contacts, and wearing a black suit while she played Christine. 

No. He couldn't take that lying down. Besides, if it happened, he would be morally obliged to murder Sam, who had suggested the whole, terrible thing in the first place. 

Of course, this argument had the exact _opposite_ effect on some people than he had been hoping for. These people (namely Paulina and Dash) now believed wholeheartedly, that a certain specific ghost (namely Phantom) would come see the play, might even _join_ the play, if only they put on _the Phantom of the Opera._

Danny wondered if graduating was really worth all this, and if it wouldn't be better to just take up full time haunting. He probably wouldn't be very good at it at first, but if this play went on, he would have more than enough cause to become a malevolent spirit. 

Maybe he wouldn't murder Sam. He would just haunt her. And dye her clothes pink. He hoped his glare was conveying that sentiment but considering how Sam was trying (and failing) to hold back laughter, he rather doubted it. 

He let his head drop onto the table again. 

A hand patted him on the back. “Sorry, Danny,” whispered Sam. “I guess I got a bit carried away. I was just thinking of scary plays, and, well, _Phantom_ is always on my mind.”

Okay, maybe he'd hold off on the dye. She'd probably re-murder him for that, anyway. 

“If you die of embarrassment,” said Tucker, helpfully, “we'll come to your funeral.”

“I'll haunt you both.”

“If it makes you feel better, I'll vote against it,” said Sam. “All the goths'll probably end up voting for _Hamlet,_ anyway. Guy was like a proto-goth, or something, and it's a tragedy. Everyone dies in the end.”

Danny grunted into the table. Somehow, he doubted that, and without A-list or band/choir support, _Hamlet_ would never win. It wasn't a musical, and it didn't have any princesses, so it wasn't likely to get either of those. 

“Alright!” exclaimed Mr. Lancer, bringing the discussion (heated argument) to a close. “Time to take a vote. Everyone will get two votes. You vote once on your first choice, and once on your second choice. Everyone understand? Good. Now, put your heads down, and no peaking. That means you, Miss Sanchez. First, if you want _Snow White,_ put your hands up.” Mr. Lancer went through all the options one-by-one. At the end of the list, he paused. “Interesting,” he said. “We seem to have a tie.”

“Between what?” asked Paulina, angrily. 

“Between _Snow White_ and _the Phantom of the Opera.”_

Danny risked peeking and saw that everyone else had already raised their heads. Mr. Lancer was standing in front of the board, rubbing his chin. 

“Alright,” Mr. Lancer said, nodding sharply. “Here's what we'll do. Everyone, put your heads down again. We're going to have one last vote, this time between _Snow White_ and _Phantom of the Opera._ Only vote _once._ Who wants _Snow White?_ ” A pause, as Mr. Lancer counted votes. “Who wants _Phantom of the Opera?_ ” Another pause. “It's... a tie.”

This was, for some people, a cue to start arguing, and, for others, a cue to bring the Inquisition down on their unfortunate social inferiors in an effort to determine who must have betrayed them for such a result to come about. 

“STOP!” shouted Mr. Lancer. The effect was not as immediate as it had been earlier in the afternoon. “Please. You'll give me laryngitis. This isn't necessarily a bad thing. If you will remember, we put on not one, but _two_ plays every year. We will do _Snow White_ this semester, and _the Phantom of the Opera_ next semester. For our next meeting,” he rubbed his hands together, “we will start brainstorming ideas, so bring your thinking caps. For now, however, I suspect you all want to go home. I will see you tomorrow. Enjoy your afternoon!”

.

.

.

Ghost activity had been high last night. Like all such nights, _Danny_ activity had also been high, as had Maddie and Jack activity, and Valerie activity. Klemper had shown up, as had the Box Ghost, a couple of one-eyed wolf ghosts, a swarm of ectopi, the vultures, and Bullet. 

Danny was exhausted. 

He considered skipping the drama club meeting so that he could sleep. Who needed a high school diploma, anyway?

… He did. He needed a high school diploma. 

Crud.

Sam and Tucker wouldn't be very happy if he ditched them, anyway. Even if it was Sam's fault that he was going to be stuck with _Phantom of the Opera_ next semester.

It was sunny this afternoon, so Mr. Lancer moved the meeting out onto the picnic tables behind the school. It was warm and summery, with a sweet edge of almost-fall and sun-beaten grass. Hot, and sleepy. 

Danny wanted to sleep. 

Conversation ebbed and flowed around him. The goal for today, according to Mr. Lancer, was to look at various different scripts for _Snow White_ , and to come up with ideas. 

Paulina wanted something soft and pink and sugary. She wanted to be a beautiful princess, beloved by all. 

“You can't be Snow White,” sneered Razor. “Snow White is supposed to have white skin.”

“Actually,” said Mia, helpfully, “the original fairy tale doesn't have anything about which part of Snow White is snow white. It just says that she's white as snow, black as ebony, and red as blood.” She smiled brightly. She and Mr. Lancer were probably the only ones working on the play without an ulterior motive of some kind. “Maybe you could wear a white wig, or something?”

The goths wanted a gothic, vampiric Snow White, a dark romance. A couple even wanted to shoehorn in Cthulhu. 

“We don't have the songs for that,” objected one of the choir kids. 

“Well, you could find some. Or we could write some. Jade does some awesome poetry.”

“It isn't that easy.”

“That's just because you suck.”

Danny rubbed his eyes. He wondered if these things were always so contentious. How did they manage to put on play after play, year after year?

“Alright!” interrupted Mr. Lancer, before the argument really took off. “Those are all excellent ideas, everyone, but let's take a little break and,” he patted a large box he had set on the table, “read some scripts. Get into groups of, eh.” He stopped, eyes losing focus. “Actually, I'll assign the groups. Maybe in small groups you'll be more willing to listen to each other’s opinions.”

Danny, somehow, managed to be grouped with Dash, Kwan, Dale, Samhain, and Mikey. Dash, Kwan, and Dale were all hulking football players. Samhain (real name, Kevin), was one of those hard-core angry goths. Mikey was taller than he'd been back in freshman year, he was taller than Danny was, but he was tall like a toothpick, and he was still a nerd. Maybe Mr. Lancer had thought that Danny, Kevin, and Mikey would band together and balance out the jocks. Danny doubted it. He wouldn't have had any problem with teaming up with Kevin and Mikey to defend themselves from Dash and the other jocks, but Kevin was kind of like Razor. That is to say, he was kind of a jerk.

Danny also suspected that Mr. Lancer failed to realize that he had just created a group with no girls. 

All six boys glared at the script. Danny tried to sink beneath the table. 

“Fentina,” said Dash, in what he probably thought was a commanding tone. “You're Snow White. Mikey, you're the evil queen.”

“Who died and put you in charge?” said Mikey. He'd grown a bit of a spine over the past couple of years, too. Danny supposed it came from living in a town plagued by ghost attacks.

“You, if you don't do what I say, you did.”

“That doesn't make sense.”

“Hey,” said Dale, snickering, “shouldn't Kevin be the evil queen? He has the makeup for it.”

“I will kill you. And my name is Samhain.”

Danny wondered if it was worth it to argue. It probably wasn't. He started to read the script, starting with his lines.

SNOW WHITE: _(singing)_

Well, that was already a bad sign. Dash would definitely force him to actually sing. The next page actually had music to go along with the words. 

SNOW WHITE: _(singing)_ Oh, gather near, my friends, close to the wishing well. I have a wish; I'd like to tell you-

Oh, gosh. That was just begging for trouble. Quickly, while Mikey was stumbling through the queen's part, Danny started to cross out every instance of the word 'wish.' Mr. Lancer should have caught this. He was usually good about this type of thing. Then again, everyone had their off days. This was one of Danny's. He was too tired for this.

SNOW WHITE: _(singing)_ Oh, gather near, my friends, close to the magic well. I have a tale I'd like to tell you, and I'm so glad to have met you. If only we could stay together always, if only I could fly like you do, if only I could touch the sky, I'd fly away from this cold dark tower, far away from my stepmother’s eye!

It went on like that for a bit. Apparently, there would be people playing the birds she was singing to. Danny sighed. Okay. He could do this. He'd get it over with with as little embarrassment as possible. 

His lines came up.

“Oh, gather near, my friends,” he muttered, “close to the magic-”

“It says _singing,_ Fentina.”

“So?” said Danny.

“So, you're going to sing, _or else._ ”

Dash's threat wasn't terribly threatening. Danny had gotten much worse, much more specific threats from people who actually had the power to carry them out in a meaningful way. Dash couldn't really hurt him, and Danny was already on the bottom of the school's social hierarchy. Still, he could make Danny's life difficult. 

He took a deep breath, and started to sing, puzzling out the tune on the page as best he could. Focused on his lines, he didn't notice how everyone at the other tables began to fall silent, nor did he notice, three lines in, the sound of wings. 

He did, however, notice when some of his winged friends (some of whom were _not_ alive) landed on his head, shoulders, and arms, and on the surrounding tables. He broke off, choking on his words. 

There was silence.

“What the _hell,_ Fenton?”


	3. Chapter 3

“Mr. Fenton,” said Mr. Lancer, voice low and cautious. “Don't panic.”

Danny sighed heavily. The birds fluttered and rearranged themselves as his shoulders moved. “I'm not panicking.” Some of the birds started to pull on his hair, clearly expecting a flight. A dove cooed softly in his ear. 

Mr. Lancer edged into Danny's field of vision, sweating. “Do you- Do you _know_ these birds, Mr. Fenton?”

“Yeah. Sorta.”

“Wh- Well _forget_ that!” exclaimed Sofia. “Why aren't you in choir?”

“Uh. I thought choir wasn't a club anymore,” said Danny, studiously ignoring the birds. 

“It isn't! But if you had been in it- Do you have any voice training?”

“... No.”

“Miss Shores, that isn't the relevant issue. Mr. Fenton has several wild birds perched on him. That's dangerous.”

“It's not dangerous,” said Danny. “They do this all the time.” He waved his arms. “I'm not in the mood right now, guys.” The birds resettled. Danny groaned. This wasn't going to help his 'uninteresting nobody social outcast' image. He dropped his head on the table. He was doing that a lot, lately. He wanted to _sleep._

Just, sleep.

Then the whispering started.

.

.

.

“So,” said Danny, the next morning as he, Sam, and Tucker walked down the sidewalk. “On a scale from one to one hundred, how screwed am I?”

“You're 'next-Disney-princess' screwed,” said Sam.

“Two,” said Tucker, “because that's how many plays you're going to be the star of. How come you never told us you can sing?”

“I don't know. It never occurred to me, I guess.” He frowned. “You don't think that this is a ghost thing, do you?”

“You could try singing at me while I have the Fenton Phones in,” said Sam. “If you still sound decent, we'd rule that out pretty quickly.”

“By the way, have you been on the school group chat since yesterday?” asked Tucker.

“When am I ever on the school group chat?”

“I'll take that as a no.”

Danny chose that moment to trip over a cat. The cat meowed and walked up onto his back, purring. A large crow joined it a second later, and then they started arguing. On Danny's back. 

Danny moaned. “I'm not ignoring you,” he told the concrete. “I just have other stuff going on.”

Sam and Tucker peeled him up off the sidewalk, and put him on his feet, like it was a common occurrence. Which it was, but usually it was because he had sunk _through_ the concrete.

He frowned down at the cat, who sat down primly, and smiled up at him. 

“Please don't do that again,” said Danny, rubbing his nose and trying to be stern. “It hurt.” He bent down to pick up the cat. The crow landed on his head and settled down. “They just don't understand that I have to go to school. Or maybe they do. I don't know. What were you saying about the chat?”

“Well, the choir and band kids have decided that you're theirs and are going to ambush you during lunch to make you learn how to read sheet music.”

“Okay, that doesn't sound so bad.” Danny had been forced to learn a number of languages, many of them dead, to navigate the intricacies of Ghost Zone society. Music couldn't be _that_ hard.

“Yeah, I'm not done. Battle lines have been redrawn, and everyone but the A-list wants you to be Snow White.”

“But I'm a guy.”

“Sure, but you're tiny. Which leads to the new argument about whether or not they should genderbend the whole play or make you cross dress. Oh, and Paulina's furious, so she'll probably try to get you in trouble, or send Dash after you. Probably Dash, to be honest, because he's in trouble for making you sing in the first place.”

“Wow,” said Sam. “Does she not see the irony in her actions _at all_? Did she totally miss the moral of _Snow White,_ or has she never actually heard the story?”

“Dunno,” said Tucker. “Want to hear the odds on whether or not Paulina gets cast as the evil queen? It's all over the double-secret server.”

“No,” said Danny. “Especially since you're the one that runs all the weird gambling stuff at school. You know that bookmaking is illegal, right?”

“Hey, it finances our extracurriculars.”

“ _I_ finance our extracurriculars,” said Sam.

“Think of it as a rainy-day fund,” said Tucker, airily. 

Danny sighed. “I thought that there was supposed to be some kind of audition?”

“Dude, your 'audition' was yesterday. Some people even think that the birds were a sign of divine intervention.”

Danny stopped dead. “Please, not the cult.”

“The cult!”

“I hate the cult,” said Danny, giving in at long last to a sulk. It had been days in the making. 

“I think they're cute.”

“They're a _cult._ ”

“Hey,” said Tucker. “If we keep standing here, we'll be late.”

“They think that Amity Park is sacred ground and that the ghosts are gods,” said Danny, resuming walking. “That's not cute, it's creepy and dangerous.”

“Yeah,” said Tucker, “and they like one ghost in particular.”

“You love them,” said Sam. “You love everyone in Amity Park. They're just a cute little cult and they want your attention.”

“Sure, and I love a lot of things that are creepy and dangerous, for example, my parents. You realize we have a torture dungeon under our house, right? That's _underneath_ the hole in reality and the stuff they set up for the express purposes of dissecting yours truly. I don't need the extra stress. Besides,” he muttered, “they don't want my attention, they want Phantom's attention.”

“Well, they want your attention too, after the birds,” said Tucker. “Also, they may or may not have started a rumor that you've been 'blessed' by Phantom. And they think you're dating.”

“I hate the cult. What else?”

“How do you know there's something else?” asked Tucker.

“There's always something else.”

“Well. There's betting as to whether or not Phantom will show up, and Wes wants to use the plays to try and prove that you're Phantom. Like, he says that if Phantom doesn't show up to watch you, you must be Phantom.”

“Wonderful.”

Danny let the cat go a block before the school and asked the birds to go. The cat followed him. The birds refused to leave. He sighed. 

“It can't get any worse, can it? The rumors, I mean.”

“Probably not,” said Tucker.

“Aaaaaaand you just jinxed it,” said Sam.

Everything went silent when the trio walked in through the school's doors. 

“I told you,” someone whispered. “It happened.”

Danny cringed. This was, apparently, the cue for him to be mobbed. The band kids weren't waiting for lunch, apparently, and Paulina was glaring daggers at him. Sam and Tucker defended him the best they could and pulled him into the nearest classroom. The other students were loath to come harass Danny under the watchful eye of Miss Lyn, who taught Pre-Algebra, Algebra, and Algebra 2. She was usually pretty permissive, but probably only because she didn't have any of the trio in her classes.

“Hey,” she said. “I heard you three are going to be in the next play.”

“I'm just filming,” said Tucker, quickly. 

“Mhm,” said Miss Lyn. She eyed the cat and the birds. “Danny, you know you can't bring your pets to school like this.”

Danny squeezed his eyes shut. “They aren't pets. They just follow me, sometimes.”

“Doesn't Mrs. Ishiyama bring her dog sometimes?” asked Sam. Her tone was suspicious, like her activism radar had just located an injustice. 

Danny braced himself. 

Miss Lyn cheerfully ignored it. “Sure, but Jojo stays in the office. He's not a distraction in the classroom.” She tilted her head to the side. “You should talk to the office, if you want them to stay with you.”

“I don't, but they won't go.”

“You could put them out the window, if you'd like,” suggested Miss Lyn.

Danny gazed longingly at the window. The cat wound around his ankles. 

“What are their names?” asked Miss Lyn.

“Uh, the cat's name is Shamu. The birds don't really have names.” Well. Not human names, anyway. Danny had taken to naming the wild animals that attached themselves to him in ghostspeak. “Like I said, they just sort of follow me, and stuff.”

Miss Lyn nodded and looked at the clock. “You'll have to get to class soon,” she observed. “You'll have to get to the office before that.” She smiled absently. “I'm going down to the office. I have to make copies.”

.

.

. 

It evolved that Principal Ishiyama was (a) very enthusiastic about the school play, and (b) thought the birds were cute. She did, however, call the number on the back of Shamu's tag, and his 'owners' took him home. 

This meant that Danny went to class with the birds. Everyone stared. Even the drama kids who had _known_ that Danny was a bird magnet. Well. They had sort of known, anyway. He supposed that one incident didn't really prove anything to anyone. It wasn't enough to establish a pattern.

The dove chose to leave at the beginning of third period. The crow, however, decided to make a literal bird's-nest out of Danny's hair. It, more accurately, she, blended in remarkably well. Danny called her Hehwiile. It meant 'sharp voice' in one of the older ghost languages. 

Mr. Lancer, whom Danny had for the period before lunch, was very enthusiastic about his companion. He kept making comments about how Danny's 'pets' (they were not pets) would lend an air verisimilitude to the play. 

Danny was hoping that a ghost would show up. At least then he would be able to have an excuse, at least for his own peace of mind, to skip out on class. Otherwise, he couldn't let himself miss. He joined the whole mess that was drama club to get a fine arts credit. He wasn't going to lose his diploma because he failed English. 

“So,” said Sam as they sat down for lunch, “how has your day been, so far?” She wasn't in English 12. Her grades had been good enough for the Honors English class.

“Terrible,” said Danny. “Horrible. Excruciating. If only I was dead and buried.”

“Aw,” said Tucker, “you're just being dramatic.”

“Didn't you hear? I'm in the drama club, now. Being dramatic is required. It's what we're all about.”

“What,” said Tucker, dropping his tray on the table with a loud clack, “Sam's finally convinced you to go goth?”

“Yeah, hey, this is just the first step,” said Sam. 

“Second. He already wears black most of the time.”

“If only I could get him to pierce his ears.”

“Gross,” said Danny. He did a lot of painful things in his spare time, but sticking a hole in your body on purpose? Just, _why?_

… Also, he might have had a _slight_ phobia of needles. 

He fed Hehwiile a tater tot and sighed. Then he saw Dash, Kwan, and Dale get up from the A-list table, meet his eyes, and begin making their way across the cafeteria, towards Danny, Sam, and Tucker. He groaned and started shoveling food into his mouth. He doubted the three bullies would let him come back to finish his meal. 

“Fenton,” rumbled Dash, probably trying to sound threatening. “You're comin' with us.”

“Mhf,” said Danny around a mouthful of ham. 

“Why?” demanded Sam, leaning back and crossing her arms.

Dash sneered. “'Cause. Guy stuff.”

“I'm a guy,” said Tucker, popping a tater tot into his mouth. “Can't you tell me?”

Dash kicked the table. “Now, Fentoenail.”

“'Kay, 'kay,” said Danny, voice still muffled. He swallowed. “You guys stay, eat. I'm fine.” He got up. “Let's get this over with.”

“Are you sure, Danny?” asked Tucker.

“Forget that, I'm going with you,” said Sam, abandoning her grass sandwich. 

“Pft. Fentina needs her freaky girlfriend to defend her. Oooh~ I'm so _scared._ ”

Danny stared at Dash tiredly, glad that Sam was on the opposite side of the table, too far away to kick Dash and start a fight.

“We're not dating,” said Danny.

“You'd better be,” said Sam. 

Danny turned and blinked at Sam. “You said something different,” he said, feeling almost betrayed.

“That's because Sam is starting to accept the inevitable,” said Tucker, smirking.

“Nothing's inevitable,” protested Danny. “Except maybe taxes.”

“Uh,” said Kwan, “isn't it 'death and taxes?'”

Dash scowled, unhappy at being ignored. He grabbed Danny by the shoulder, spun him around, and yanked him to the door. Danny sighed, and pulled free, but kept pace with the much larger boy. Sam and Tucker came up to flank him, elbowing around Dale and Kwan. 

The bullies marched them around to the back of the computer lab, which was at the top of a small slope. Dash assumed the stereotypical 'bully pose' and Danny started to mentally calculate how long this would take. He didn't want to be late for his next class.

“You're gonna quit the drama club,” said Dash.

“Uhuh,” said Danny. 

Dash pushed him, hard, into the wall. This was when Hehwiile launched herself from Danny's head, straight into Dash's face. Dash shrieked, fell, tumbled down the hill, and the other jocks followed after, all chased by the little crow.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” agreed Tucker, “that was unexpected.”

“Oh,” repeated Danny, this time with more emotion. “She's going to get hurt! Hehwiile!” He ran after the jocks. “Hehwiile! Come back!”


	4. Chapter 4

Danny refrained from making ‘bird brained’ comments in deference to his feathered friends, who had proven to be much smarter than Dash and his cohort. Still, Danny was struggling to find a better descriptor for what the jocks were doing. 

“They know I can see them, right?” he asked. “I mean, the lockers aren’t big enough to hide them.”

“Don’t be so hard on them Danny,” said Sam, tipping an intimidating set of leather-bound books out of her locker. “They haven’t grasped the concept of object permanence yet.”

“What are they even trying to do?”

“Ambush you, it looks like,” said Tucker, utterly unconcerned for his friend, which, well, fair. Danny _did_ have superpowers. 

Sam glanced over. “Based on how Dale is juggling that lock, I bet they’re going to try and shove you in a locker and force you to skip the club meeting.”

“That’s so dumb.”

“Yeah,” agreed Tucker. “When was the last time you were stuck in a locker for more than fifteen minutes? You’d think they’d get the memo.”

Danny had to think about that one. “I think it was last September, in the locker rooms. I had to stay in because the locker room lockers are just diamond grating, and they could see me.”

“Huh. I thought it was longer ago.”

“Yeah, well.” Danny shrugged. Internally, he was feeling less philosophical. He’d wanted to drop off his backpack and books before going to the club meeting, and this was just getting annoying. 

The jocks had kept up their harassment, even after Hehwiile’s attack, although their methods had become increasingly pathetic and ineffectual. Tripping, glaring, threats, stolen worksheets… Now this. Danny sighed. 

“Oh, look, here comes Valerie,” said Tucker. 

Danny turned, and frowned slightly at the sight of his ex-girlfriend. They were on mostly good terms, but Valerie rarely sought him out unless she needed to ask him something about ghosts. Not that she knew just how intimately Danny was familiar with ghosts. She thought he got his knowledge from his ghost-hunting parents. 

Danny didn’t particularly begrudge her the information. She often needed it to keep herself alive. On the other hand, the _reason_ she needed it to keep herself alive was because she was _also_ a ghost hunter, and her favorite ghost to hunt was Danny.

Yeah. That was just what being Danny was like.

“Hey, Danny,” she said. 

That was another reason he felt weird about Valerie. Sam and Tucker were right there, but she didn’t acknowledge them. 

“Hi,” said Danny. “What’s up?”

“Oh, I just– What are _they_ doing?” Valerie nodded over Danny’s shoulders. 

“Probably trying to ambush me. No big deal.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?” asked Danny. 

“This is just about a daily occurrence,” said Tucker. 

“Come on,” said Danny, “weekly, tops. So, what _is_ up?”

A storm passed over Valerie’s face and stayed there. “Hold that thought.” She marched over to where Dash and his cronies were hiding.

Tucker, of course, started filming with his PDA. “What?” he asked, noticing Sam and Danny’s askance looks. “I’m just practicing for when we do the play. Also, man, I’m going to make so much money off this.”

“I am begging you. Please tell me you aren’t going to sell a video of Valerie telling off Dash.”

“I’m not doing that. I’m doing something better.”

“I hesitate to ask.”

“There’s a bet running that Valerie will punch Dash before the end of the school year and a rider that it’ll be because of you.”

“How many aspects of my life are you betting on, Tucker?”

“More than you want to know,” said Sam.

“If you two would just get together, I’d be rich. Rich, I tell you.”

“Anyway,” said Sam. “Will you help me carry these?” She hefted one of the books.

“Sure,” said Danny. “What are they?”

“Research,” said Sam. “Do you know how many different versions of Snow White there are?”

“A lot?”

“You’d better believe it.”

To their side, Tucker groaned.

“What?”

“She didn’t hit him.”

“Well, better luck next time.”

“Better luck with what?” asked Valerie. She gave Tucker a suspicious glare. “You weren’t filming me, were you?” 

Danny glanced over at where the jocks had been. They were gone. Hopefully, they hadn’t found a better hiding spot.

“Yep,” said Tucker, cheerfully. 

Briefly, it looked like Valerie wanted to hit Tucker, but she shook herself and turned back to Danny with a smile. “So, you’re in drama this year?”

“We all are,” said Sam, closing her locker with a bit more force than was strictly necessary. It made Hehwiile wake with a jump and scrabble for purchase on Danny’s head. 

“Is – Is that a bird? On your head?” asked Valerie, her hand twitching towards her backpack and, presumably, her ectoweapons. 

“Yes,” said Danny, “and no, it isn’t a ghost thing. Just a perfectly normal bird.” Normal for Amity Park, anyway, which was to say, not very. “What were you saying about drama?”

Valerie sighed deeply, as if the world had offended her on some deep personal level. “Well,” she said. “It turns out that I’m short an arts credit, and I need to make it up, somehow.”

Danny blinked. Sometimes, he forgot that ghost hunting put as much strain on Valerie’s schedule as it did on his. 

“Why don’t you take art instead of that self-defense class?” asked Sam. “You already have all the PE you need.”

“A girl’s got to stay in shape.”

“So, you’re joining drama?” asked Danny. He could have leaped for joy. An ally who would be against the involvement of ghosts!

“Maybe,” said Valerie. “I just wanted to ask, how is it?”

“Fine, so far, but this will only be our third meeting. Why don’t you come with us? I’m sure Mr. Lancer won’t mind.”

“Also,” said Sam, “we really need to go before these books drag our arms off.”

.

.

.

They met outside again, and Mr. Lancer looked entirely unperturbed at Valerie’s presence, silently passing her three copies of the sign-up form. Danny smirked a little at that. It was nice to know he wasn’t the only one who had trouble returning work intact. 

As before, people were split into their various cliques and friend groups, with Valerie awkwardly joining the trio. Unlike before, however, everyone was eyeing Danny. 

Well, except for Sam and Tucker. Sam was organizing her books, and Tucker was playing with his PDA. Typical. But that’s why he loved them. 

“It’s because you have a bird on your head,” said Valerie.

Danny shrugged. “They already know about her.”

In the center of the group, Mr. Lancer clapped his hands together, signaling the start of the club meeting. People glanced at him, but for the most part kept staring at Danny.

“Alright!” he said. “Now, last time, we read some scripts and discovered some unusual talents. Today we are going to try to narrow down what _version_ of Snow White we want to put on, and what, if any modifications we need to make.”

Mia’s hand shot up.

“Yes, Miss Battaglia?” asked Mr. Lancer. 

“Well, since Danny’s obviously going to be Snow White,” there was a generalized murmur of agreement, “I think the first thing we should do is ask him whether or not he’ll be comfortable crossdressing. Then we can decide how much genderswapping we should do.”

Danny appreciated the thought, but he rather wished (silently, of course) that someone had asked him if he even wanted to be in the play first. 

“Excellent though. Well, Mr. Fenton?”

Danny shifted uncomfortably. “I’d really rather not cross dress,” he said, remembering what had happened last time. Sam and Tucker, the traitors, had claimed that he made a cute girl, but compliments alone would never make up for the memory of Dash trying to flirt with him. 

Just. No. 

And, just like that, the club exploded into all-out war. 

One subset wanted to genderswap the whole play. Another wanted to only leave everyone but Danny the way they were, arguing for a love story between two princes. A third wanted to genderswap on a case-by-case basis. A fourth wanted the dwarves to be genderless.

This was complicated by Paulina first insisting that she be Snow White, and then by demanding that she be the queen, because, after all, she was the queen of Casper High. 

Danny _knew_ Paulina knew the meaning of the word irony. Somehow, that made this worse. 

Driven by Paulina’s insistence, and despite Mr. Lancer’s best efforts, the conversation veered off into casting. 

“Alright,” said Ricky Marsh, who had somehow finagled his way into being the spokesman for the theater geeks. “Paulina, you can be the queen.” She preened. “Then, Sam can be Prince Charming!”

Paulina’s mouth fell open. She had apparently not considered that, with Danny playing Snow White, the prince could become a princess. Now, she had inadvertently locked herself into being the villain of the piece. 

Danny had more important things to consider, however. He turned to Sam, who looked shocked. 

“What? Me?” said Sam, looking up from her books.

“Hm,” said Razor, leader of the goths, stroking his chin piercing. “Yes, you can be our dark prince. We accept.”

“Hold on,” said Sam. 

“Great!” said Mia, beaming and writing Sam’s name on the board. Somehow, in all of this, she had commandeered the whiteboard and the marker. The argument moved on. 

“Well,” said Sam, rolling her eyes. “At least you won’t have to fakeout-makeout with anyone new.”

“No!” said Tucker. “No, this is a disaster!”

“Um, why?” asked Danny.

“Because there’s a kissing scene!”

“Yeah?” said Sam. “That’s what we were just talking about.”

“No, you don’t get it. If you kiss during a _play,_ it’ll ruin all my bets! You have to reject it, Sam, please, my wallet is begging you.”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way to cope,” said Sam.

“They’re doing this on purpose,” said Tucker. “Razor said that you were a dark and loveless soul, and that the next kiss you gave would be false. Help me, Sam. Tap into your inner spite. Better yet, start dating Danny now! Save my life savings!”

“My dude,” said Danny. “This is getting kind of creepy. Are you okay? You didn’t _actually_ bet your life savings on when Sam and I kiss, did you?”

Tucker pulled himself up from throwing himself at Sam’s feet. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Sorry, did I go too far?”

“Just a bit.”

“I agree. Tone it down.”

“Wait,” said Valerie, who had been watching in horror. “That was a joke?”

“Yeah. You couldn’t tell?”

.

.

.

“I have a proposal,” said Sam, after a fifteen-minute argument over who would be Dopey almost came to blows.

Mr. Lancer’s head whipped around so fast that Danny was surprised he didn’t break his neck. “Yes, Miss Manson?” he asked, full of hope (and a healthy amount of fear. Sam’s Doomed avatar wasn’t named Chaos for nothing). 

“Well, you’re all arguing over the Disney dwarf names. Traditionally, the dwarves didn’t have names, and, in a lot of versions, they weren’t dwarves at all, and there weren’t necessarily seven of them. I think one version has the princess living with forty dragons. Another has her living with knights. I say, we pick what suits our school best.”

There was a beat of silence, then, almost as one, the drama club nodded and uttered, “Ghosts.”

“Well,” said Mr. Lancer, brightly. “At least there’s something we can all agree on.”

“You’ve got to be _kidding_ me!” exclaimed Valerie. 

.

.

.

“Want to bet we don’t see Valerie in club again?” asked Tucker as they stopped by their lockers after the meeting ended.

“Nope,” said Sam and Danny together. 

“What? Really? After all that about ghosts? She looked like she was about to have an aneurysm.”

“Yeah,” said Danny, “but Nathan and Lester are in the band clubs, and you know how they are.”

Tucker nodded in understanding. “So, do you think Valerie will be the huntsman, if she stays?”

“No way. It’ll go to one of the drama kids,” said Danny. “Mr. Lancer was pretty firm on us waiting to assign any more roles until we’ve done proper auditions.” He shoved a sheaf of sheet music into his already overfull backpack. “ _Snow White and the Seven Ghosts_ , huh?”

“I’m angling for getting it called _the Tale of the Dead Prince and the Seven Ghosts,_ but, yeah,” said Sam. “But you’re lucky it didn’t wind up being _Snow White and the Seven Ghost_ Hunters, like Valerie wanted.”

“I guess,” said Danny. “But if they all wind up dressed like Phantom, I’m blaming you.”

“They won’t,” reassured Sam. 

“How do you know?” asked Danny.

“Have you seen how many goths there are?” asked Tucker. “Between them and the serious drama kids, it’d never be allowed.”

“I think Dash is the only one who’s that big of a fanboy, anyway,” said Sam. 

“Not counting the cult,” added Tucker.

“Yep,” agreed Sam. “Can’t forget the cult.”

“Please. Let me forget the cult.”

.

.

.

Danny yanked a fistful of sheet music out of his backpack and groaned, glaring at the crumpled pages. Why him? He didn’t have time to learn this, let alone the willpower. His head was still pounding from his math homework. 

Or should he blame it on the ghost football team that had rolled through town and over Danny an hour ago? He shook his head. Football players had _no_ respect, dead or alive. 

What he really wanted to do was throw the music to the side and go to sleep. 

But he didn’t. If he was going to have to do this thing, he wanted to do it as well as he could. His reputation as a lazy student wasn’t _entirely_ undeserved, sometimes he did skip assignments when everything got to be too much, but he always hated doing anything less than his best. 

Of course, the crash course the choir kids had given him in reading music hadn’t exactly been effective. He had no idea what he was looking at. 

Wait.

He pulled one sheet of paper from the stack. He knew this song, from _Beauty and the Beast_. Maybe he could just start with this one?

After a moment’s consideration, he went ghost and flew outside. He probably shouldn’t tempt fate, as far as getting caught by his parents went, but his animal and ghost friends were feeling neglected, and, hey, they had gotten him into this mess. They should help him practice. 

Besides, the night was clear and warm. Who knew how much longer that would last, once they got into the fall?

He settled down on top of the clocktower in the park, and was immediately swarmed by owls, ghost birds, and softly luminous will-o-the-wisps. 

“Want to hear a song?” he asked them. He took the various bob, whistles, caws, and screeches as assent, and he sang, head tilted up, towards the stars.

The first run through was not, in Danny’s opinion, particularly good. He adjusted himself, first trying to make his notes line up with his memory of the song, then making his own additions, replacing English words with ones in ghostspeak and then straight-up gibberish, warping the melody, exaggerating it, twisting it, mixing it with other songs until it was something entirely new and haunting. 

He _still_ didn’t think it was any good. At this point, he wasn’t practicing, just messing around. This wasn’t even giving him a good feel for what he should sing like when he _did_ finally get some real instruction on how to sing. 

After all, his human voice didn’t have a supernatural buzz or echo behind it that he could harmonize with, and he was pretty sure his Ghostly Wail was contributing to his lung capacity. 

The animals and ghosts seemed to enjoy it, though. 

… Hold up. There were more of them than when he started. His voice died in his throat, and he looked around himself for the first time since he had started. A _lot_ more. He expected a _few_ more to show up as time went on, but this was sort of ridiculous.

He looked down and almost swallowed his tongue in surprise.

There were people down there. Many, many people. 

“Oh,” he said, quietly. “This is going to be a problem.”


End file.
